


Bad Morning

by AnnieVH



Series: Behind Closed Doors [41]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: AU, Abusive Relationship, Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Gas Lighting, Gen, Library, Manipulation, Rumbelle - Freeform, UST, Verbal Abuse, aftermath of abuse, anti milah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-17
Updated: 2015-09-17
Packaged: 2018-04-21 04:04:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4814270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnieVH/pseuds/AnnieVH
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Belle welcomes Rumple to the library and realizes something is wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Morning

**Author's Note:**

> **Anonymous prompted** : Gold starts to visit the Library more often.  
>  **Warnings** : gas-lighting, verbal abuse and manipulation.  
>  **Beta** : Maddiebonanafana, as always, kept me from embarrassing myself with bad grammar and bad decisions.

Belle knew he had a fight with Milah the moment Rumple walked into the library. She was getting good at reading his face, and today it looked particularly haunted.

“Bad night?” she greeted.

He shook his head. “Bad morning.”

“It's eight thirty.”

“Yes,” he sighed. “This is shaping up to be a good day. I know you won't be open for another thirty minutes, but do you mind?”

Belle answered, “Sure!” And Ruby's face came to her. It always did when Belle did something she wasn't supposed to. Nowadays, every conversation with Ruby seemed to dedicate at least a few minutes to her relationship with Mr. Gold, especially “do's” and “don't's”.

“Do call Neal whenever you think there's something wrong. Don't be alone with him if you can avoid it. Don't get involved.”

Belle was doing her best to follow her advice. It was, after all, reasonable. She hadn't visited the shop anymore, and always had an excuse ready in case he walked in and the library was empty – like now. It would be wiser to claim she forgot something upstairs, or ask him to come back later because she had to wash the floor.

But he was looking so miserable that morning that Belle didn't have the heart to turn him away. Whatever had happened at home, it had left deep lines on his face.

“I have to put these away,” she said. “But you can sit at the table while I work.”

Rumple eyed the large pile of books and shrugged. “I could help you.”

“No,” she answered immediately. “Not with your hand like that. You're a week away from freedom. Do you really want to risk it?”

“I suppose you are right,” he admitted. “I'll stay out of your way.”

“Here.” Belle handed him a book. “To keep you company.”

He accepted the book and almost smiled at her. Belle hated his _almost_ smiles. They made her feel like a failure.

Rumple limped to the table without saying another word and sat down with a heavy sigh. Belle stacked the trolley with books and pushed it to the farthest section, trying no tot wonder what had happened at home to make him look so sad. 

 

* * *

 

 

What was supposed to be an exception, quickly became their nightly routine: quietly retreating to separate bedrooms. Three weeks, and Milah's silent treatment hadn't improved one bit. The book that was supposed to be a way in only gave her the excuse she needed to start a fight because, a) she had already read that book, and if he ever paid attention to her, he'd have noticed, and b) he had gone into the library to meet Belle, no doubt. Hadn't he promised not to encourage her affection?

Rumple didn't know what was worse anymore, the jealousy-driven outbursts, or the coldness that left him in a constant state of dread, awaiting the next fight. Sometimes, he felt compelled to lock the door before going to sleep, fearing she might come to him at three amwith new accusations and a nasty disposition. She might push him out of bed to wake him up, wouldn't be the first time. But, ultimately, he decided against it, knowing that a little shouting would be nothing compared to what might happen if she tried to come into the bedroom and found the door locked.

But it seemed that Milah had no intention to come into their bedroom anymore, so Rumple filled his loneliness by reading _Around the World in 80 Days_. It was also a good way to fight the memory of Belle – or, to be more specific, the memory of Belle's eyes staring at his lips for that fraction of a second. He'd been doing that a lot, with moderate levels of success.

More often than not, to wonder about the affections of a woman young enough to be his daughter made him feel silly. And how pleased Milah would be to hear him admit that, yes, she had been right all along, maybe Belle did have a little crush on him after all. Not that he'd ever admit it out loud.

Rumple knew he should stay as far away from Belle as he could. Whether her affection was real, or just a result of Milah's jealousy, inducing paranoia into his head, it didn't matter. He knew very well that married men shouldn't spend nearly as much time around single women as he did. Especially not the same single woman, twice a week or so.

However, after almost kissing him – well... after _perhaps_ thinking of almost kissing him, Belle had given no other indication of her feelings, and they had easily returned to their regular interactions. And Rumple was glad for that. Coming home to face Milah's anger was much easier if he could first stop by the library to see Belle's friendly smile. She always asked about his hand and seemed genuinely concerned; then, they talked about books, or the shop, or Baelfire, never feeling as if he was abusing her friendliness. After that, he could go home and be ignored, having those fifteen minutes of debating Julius Verne to remember and to sooth himself with.

 _Cora was the same_ , he told himself a couple of weeks later. His bedroom was still half-empty and now Milah had picked up the bad habit of leaving the TV on before going to bed. It was the third day in a row that she did it, and he really didn't want to get out of bed _again_ to turn it off, but the sound of a loud action movie was driving him crazy. And his darkest thoughts always caught him late at night, when he couldn't sleep.

Cora _was_ the same. They started with lessons on how to use a spinning wheel, something as innocent as his and Belle's private book club. Cora was bored at home. Rumple was constantly miserable because Bae was angry at him ever since they sent him to boarding school, and Milah spent her free time making sure he felt terrible about himself, usually attacking his skills as a father and a husband, where she knew it would hurt him more.

The logic behind the affair had been the same, hadn't it? Milah was being difficult and didn't want to talk, so why not spend time with a lovely woman who seemed to enjoy his company? It hadn't taken Cora two months to seduce him. Looking back now, he felt stupid to have thought they'd have a chance. They were each other's distractions. Good sex on Tuesdays and Fridays so they could go on ignoring their unhappy marital lives the other five days of the week.

 _I was lucky_ , he thought, not for the first time. _Most women wouldn't have forgiven something like that._

At least Cora had been older, not the middle-age cliche he found himself trapped into. A woman younger than his son. When did he become that kind of man? It was pathetic. He couldn't make the same mistake again. Bae wouldn't forgive him. Milah didn't deserve that. Belle didn't deserve that either. Even if she _did_ want him, which sounded more farfetched each time they saw each other, he was married and it was his responsibility to keep his distance.

So, that morning, when he sat down for breakfast, he decided to take the first step and asked Milah, “What do you want me to say?”

Milah raised her eyebrows at him, holding on to a cup of coffee and looking as if she had had a perfect night of sleep.

“I have no idea why you're mad,” he explained.

“Shocker,” Milah answered, between sips of her coffee.

“It's been almost four weeks,” he continued. “I'm about to leave for New York and you haven't said a word since I broke my hand. Just tell me what to say so we can move on.”

“I shouldn't have to tell you.”

Rumple sighed. Milah was not the kind of person to make things easy on him.

“Do you want to leave me?” he asked, deciding to take a more direct approach.

Milah didn't answer.

“Because we said last year that we were going to give it a real try this time. And we were doing well. I have no idea what happened to make you so angry that you won't even talk to me anymore, so maybe you just realized that you don't want to-”

“You haven't apologized.”

“I'm sorry,” he said before he had time to process what Milah had told him. His knee-jerk reaction was to do as she asked. It was easier. Then, he stopped and thought about. “No. Wait. No. Apologize for what?”

Milah stared at him.

“You broke my hand,” he said, trying his best not to sound non-confrontational. “And _you_ didn't apologize for _that_.”

“I'm not going to apologize for closing a door, Rumple,” she replied, holding on to her cup of coffee and putting on a serene expression that made Rumple feel like the unreasonable one. “You had your hand there and I didn't see it. Why do you keep blaming this on me?”

“And what are you blaming me for?” he demanded, since he couldn't find an argument to refute hers. “That's what I don't understand!”

“You _know_ why I'm mad. You just refuse to acknowledge it. We've been talking about it since February, and we were talking about it before you broke your hand. Then, _suddenly_ , you get hurt and drop the subject _entirely_. I have to do all the cooking, I have to drive you everywhere. Meanwhile, you spend more time in that library than at your own shop, and that is saying something.”

“I have a lot of free time, Milah,” he replied, making sure to keep eye contact and not falter as the lie escaped his lips. She was very good at telling when he was lying. “In case you haven't noticed, there isn't much I can do with one hand at the shop.”

“You should stay home, then.”

“For you to ignore me?”

Milah sipped coffee and looked into his eyes. Rumple could see the wheels turning as she tried to choose the best course of action.

“It's the drawing,” she finally said. “I am mad because of Neal's drawing. The one that you knew about and tried to hide from me.”

He nodded. “Bae already told me that he won't use it. And I have apologized for that already.”

“Actually, you haven't.”

Rumple blinked at her. “No. I did. Repeatedly.”

Milah thought about it. “I don't want to leave you. This is the best our marriage has been in years. Don't you agree?”

“Yes,” he admitted. Despite the recent rough patch, they were doing relatively fine until February. He'd much rather go back to those simpler times.

“But I don't like how much time you spend with that woman,” Milah continued. “And I don't like that you are going to Neal's birthday party after what he did. It only shows that you agree with him.”

“I don't. I told him it was insensitive and that he should apologize to you.”

“He didn't.”

“That is not my fault.”

“You are going to his birthday party. You should stay here with me to let him know that what he did was cruel.”

“Milah, you know I don't take sides when you're fighting.”

“If you truly wanted to be neutral, you'd stay here.”

Rumple rubbed his face roughly. It was always the same thing, every birthday, every Christmas, every holiday. He'd be begging her to let him go see Bae and Henry without another scandal, and she would cross her arms and look at him as if he was a despicable human being for even suggesting it. Once, when the guilt trip was not enough, she went as far as to fall sick – although, really, could he blame her for that? More often than not, he would go through with his plans, since he hardly ever saw his grandson. But he knew that the moment he stepped back into the house, there would be hell to be dealt with.

“I cannot keep doing this, Milah,” he said, exhausted. “We have this fight every year.”

“That is not true,” she stated. It sounded so honest Rumple caught himself doubting his own memories. Was it really always that bad? Maybe he was remembering it wrong. Or maybe he was just being too hard on her. “I had no problem with you going to Neal's for Christmas, or for Henry's birthday last year. Did I?”

“No,” he admitted, reluctantly.

“Maybe sometimes I am hurt, but that doesn't mean I don't want you to spend time with them. He is, after all, your son too.”

She sounded so reasonable. How did she always manage to sound so reasonable?

“But after what he did,” Milah continued, her voice unchanged, soft, “I don't understand how you can go meet Neal and his family as if it was nothing. To me, that only says that you don't care that he hurt my feelings.”

“I do care,” he pleaded. “I told him that, I-”

His mouth hang open as he tried to find something else to say, but it was so difficult to talk to Milah when she got like this. He didn't know why, she was perfectly composed, more rational than she had been all month, and yet it was impossible to argue. She just sounded so... _right_.

“I think we can both agree,” Milah went on, mercilessly, “that it would be best if you stayed here. Neal should learn to live with the consequences of his actions. Do you agree with me?”

“I need to get out of here.”

Milah stared at him as Rumple pushed his chair back and reached for the cane.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Out,” he announced. “I need some air.”

“Malcolm, we are not done talking,” she said, her forehead creasing as her calm exterior started to crack.

“You are giving me a headache, Milah. I need a break.”

She scoffed. “That is _typical_ of you. You always say you want to talk, but as soon as things don't go your way, you quit it.”

Rumple didn't pay attention to her. He had to get out of the house before she convinced him to do something he didn't want to do. Her voice could be like poison sometimes.

Milah didn't get up to come after him until he reached the foyer, but since she had two good legs (and two good arms for that matter), she got to him long before he even found his keys.

“Why do you have to be such a coward all the time?” she demanded, as if it was a genuine question. “Why can't you just be a man?”

“I just want to see Bae,” he mumbled. His hands were shaking so much he dropped the keys.

“I just want to see Bae,” she mimicked. “You're pitiful!”

He did sound pitiful in her lips. Maybe he truly was.

Milah waited for him to kneel down for the keys before kicking them away from his hands.

On his knees, Rumple looked up at her, towering over him. Even on her bare feet she was a tall woman. He often had the feeling she could snap him in half.

Right now, she was looking at him as if she wanted to do just that.

 

* * *

 

Rumple didn't try to initiate conversation with her for the next half hour. At first, Belle thought he was being respectful, since she had told him she had to work. But after a while, she realized it was him who didn't want to talk at all. He sat at the table and leafed through the book she had given him without paying close attention to the words.

He didn't look up once, but Belle stole some glances through the shelves, trying to figure out what was wrong. The splint seemed to be untouched, so nothing to worry about there. His eyes were red, but dry. There were no bruises that she could see.

 _He's fine, Lady Belle_ , Ruby's voice told her. _He doesn't need a white knight today._

No, there was something wrong. It was written on the deep lines on his face. On the way he was hunched over that book as if hoping it would swallow him. On the slight tremor on his good hand that Belle took a moment to notice, but it was undeniably there.

Belle cleared her throat before approaching him, giving him a heads up. Rumple still startled.

“We're ready for business.”

“Good,” he said, _almost_ smiling again. He checked his watch. “I should probably get going.”

“Should I check this out for you?”

He looked at the book, considering it, but returned it to her. “No. It didn't really get my attention. Then again, I don't think anything will today.”

“That bad?” she asked, without thinking.

He didn't answer.

“I'm sorry,” Belle hurriedly said. “I don't mean to pry.”

“You have the right to pry,” he said, not sounding upset. Not sounding _anything_ , come to think of it. His voice was drained of all emotion. “I've barged into your library before opening hours.”

“You got me the library. I'd say you have special hours privilege.”

Belle smiled at him. He didn't make an effort to smile back.

God, things must be bad.

“Thank you for letting me stay here and clear my head.”

“You can stay longer, if you'd like. You look...” she searched for the right word. He didn't bother to lift an eyebrow. “You look shaken up.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, and Belle was surprise to realize he sounded angry at himself. “I need to get my head together.”

“You don't have to.”

“I do. Can't work like this.”

“Maybe you should take a day off.”

He laughed, but there was no joy in it. “What's a day off?”

“It's a day when you stop being stubborn and go home to get some rest.”

Belle saw him shudder, although her tone hadn't been very harsh.

He said, “I can't go home right now.” And then his cheeks turned red and he stared at the floor.

It took Belle a moment too long to understand why he looked so ashamed. When it finally hit her, it made her blood turn cold. He was ashamed because going home would not mean getting some rest, but facing his wife again. His angry wife, that had left him in such a state that he could barely look Belle in the eye.

“You can stay here for as long as you need,” she said. Screw taking a step back, and screw Ruby too.

But he shook his head and announced, “I have to open the shop. Thank you for your kindness.”

Belle called his name and tried to stay in his way, but he easily walked around her and was gone.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a little more graphic than previous chapters, so I'd really like to know what you guys think.


End file.
